


The Next Best Thing.

by HandheldAshtray



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fleshjacks, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Solo!Cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 15:34:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandheldAshtray/pseuds/HandheldAshtray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He took a long drink of his beer, setting it down on the floor before taking the package and pulling it into his lap. He opened the plain brown paper, frowning a little at the package. He didn’t recognise the brand, or the product that it’s advertising but the worlds ‘World’s Leading Male Masturbator’ are enough for him to hazard a guess. He turned pink, mortified and couldn’t help but feel furious anger at the slight he’d received. But that could wait until tomorrow, when Dean’s hungover so he could clatter around the house like a bull in a china shop, and then do it all again every morning for the next week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Next Best Thing.

The Next Best Thing.   


The three of them living together was awkward. Sam had gone to college with Castiel, they’d met, shared many a night slaving over a paper together in the library. Castiel was a theology major, Sam, Law, but they always seemed to manage to find one another. A series of lonely thanksgivings later, they graduated, pooled their resources and started to rent a place. The house was small, but suitable for their needs. Castiel worked pushing pencils for some big corporation, Sam operated phones whilst doing voluntary work, trying to get his law career to take off. 

Dean turned up out of nowhere. Castiel had known that Sam had a brother somewhere, a Dad too, but for all the lonely holidays he was shocked when Sam got the call. He’d phoned Sam the night before a simple “Dad’s been maimed on a hunting trip. Funerals in 4 days” and had provided the details. Naturally Sam was grief stricken and Castiel was left alone for a few days. He hadn’t expected Sam to return with Dean in tow. 

Castiel came home to a full loveseat. His usual spot to watch his usual shows occupied by the drunken green eyed man who was clearly trying not to grieve. Blankets and pillows were piled on the only armchair and Sam was sat quietly next to Dean, giving Castiel an apologetic look. Dean ignored him and Castiel ignored his beer in Dean’s hand. He showered, holed up in his room and got an early night. 

This routine continued, Castiel accidentally waking Dean up at 6am every morning in the shower and Dean making sure that all of Castiel’s breakfast cereal was always gone. A month into the arrangement, Dean finally introduced himself They had been on egg shells, sizing each other up and despite Sam’s apologies and promises that Dean wouldn’t be staying long. He also announced he had found himself a job and would be crashing on their couch until Sam and he got a better arrangement. 

Everything was tense, until one morning Castiel came down to an empty living room. Dean was nowhere to be seen, his blankets were piled on the arm chair, his jacket was draped over the table, but the man himself was nowhere to be found. He found out later that Dean had had enough of his early morning wake up calls, and was moving up to share Sam’s room. 

When Castiel first heard them, it was 4am and he was angry. The gentle, repetitive thunk that he’d thought was the neighbours had roused him initially, the loud, low, broken moan had kept him awake. He was grouchy at best when woken up, especially by someone else’s carelessness and went to pour himself a glass of water from the cooler in the fridge. It took him more than a moment to process the fact that the banging was much closer than he had first thought, and that the gentle murmuring was from somewhere much closer to home. Dean wasn’t on the couch, and there was a crack of light from underneath Sam’s door, and even sleep blind, Castiel knew. 

Nothing was said. Not a single word. What the brothers wanted to do was none of his business. It wasn’t exactly his cup of tea, but he could live with it. Well, if Dean’s constant musing were anything to go by they would not be renewing the lease, so Castiel wouldn’t have to live with it at all after another year and a half. He and Sam grew distant and uncomfortable in one another’s presence and Castiel couldn’t wait to downsize. 

When Valentine’s day rolled around, Castiel had half expected them to go on a date, or go the bar, do something with themselves so he could have the place to himself. But he was not so fortunate; instead they sat in, drank beer and watched movies on the loveseat causing Castiel to retreat to his bedroom once again. Later that night he heard the low mutterings and the complaining of bed springs and was quietly released that they were at least celebrating in a fashion. They were brothers, he knew that, but he knew Sam, and if Sam was happy, well, that was all that Castiel wanted. Their arrangement was as friends, and if Sam wished to fuck his obnoxious asshole brother, Castiel could live with that. 

Mid-March, Dean gave Castiel a gift. He’d come home late from work to find the two brothers eating at the table, they had steak, Sam had salad and Dean had fries, and Castiel couldn’t figure out why. He assumed it was some significant date, Dean’s birthday, perhaps Sam’s internship had finally given him some perks but either way he didn’t care. Castiel grabbed himself a beer and took advantage of the empty love seat, finally sinking down into his favourite spot, now also Dean’s, and switching on the TV. His briefcase was by his side, he hadn’t even taken off his suit jacket but he cracked the beer and sipped whilst enjoying the quiet sounds of some mindless show. 

Once the brothers had finished, Dean leaned over the back of the sofa, hands on Castiel’s shoulders, bending low to speak into his ear.

“Look Cas, I know you can’t get yourself laid, and it sucks you’re spending this special day alone, so I picked you up a little something…” Castiel remained still, ignoring Dean as best he could despite his hammering heart. He took another swig of his beer, and set himself refusing to move, even when Dean gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Me n’ Sammy are heading to the bar, don’t wait up.” He added before moving away. There was a small sound, the rustle of plastic and then a soft thud as a cardboard package hit the spare seat on the sofa, Castiel barely glanced at it, muttering a small “Thank you” to the sounds of crockery clattering together in the sink. 

“Not quite a blowjob, but it’s the best I could do.” Came a smug shout followed by a soft thud what sounded like Sam hitting Dean’s arm and the door opening. Slamming shut behind them both as they tramped out of the house. It wasn’t until he had heard the Impala peel out of the driveway that Castiel allowed his curiosity to get the better of him. 

He took a long drink of his beer, setting it down on the floor before taking the package and pulling it into his lap. He opened the plain brown paper, frowning a little at the package. He didn’t recognise the brand, or the product that it’s advertising but the worlds ‘World’s Leading Male Masturbator’ are enough for him to hazard a guess. He turned pink, mortified and couldn’t help but feel furious anger at the slight he’d received. But that could wait until tomorrow, when Dean’s hungover so he could clatter around the house like a bull in a china shop, and then do it all again every morning for the next week.

It was blatant insult, an offense that Castiel has done nothing to deserve. He could find himself a lover if he wanted, but he worked, he saved and he enjoyed his down time too much to make the sacrifice. And well, at least he hadn’t quite resorted to fucking his brother just yet. He threw the offending package to the other side of the loveseat, picked up his beer and continued watching his show.

No. Dinner and four beers later, he managed to bring himself to open the package. He frowned a little, laying the pieces out on the bed, a masturbatory sleeve, the case for easy use, a small packet of lubricant and some instructions. His second insult of the night was the fact is was for men’s men. In Castiel’s mind, he had no interest in anybody’s sexual orientation and the gender of his past partners had mattered little, but he couldn’t help but once again feel mild offence. He had never had a full blown conversation with Dean, never mind an in depth discussion on his sexual orientation, so the assumption caused him to prickle slightly. 

However he found that he couldn’t deny that the bronzed bodies were a stone’s throw away from perfection, and though the sleeve didn’t seem all too inviting, once Castiel had slipped two curious fingers passed the lips of the silicone mouth he could easily see the appeal. It was tight and the texture was not unpleasant. It was a little could, but he assumed that body heat and friction would soon solve that problem, and that perhaps the biggest fuck you he could give Dean was to actually enjoy the gift he’d been given. Loudly. And inappropriately. At all times of the night as his and Sam’s love making was already prone to doing. 

It was a perfect plan. Tipping the fifth and final beer down his throat, Castiel turned off the television, revelling in the silence that it afforded him. The house was rarely quiet since Dean moved in, and his nights were tinged with embarrassment. Masturbation, for Castiel, was a hurried job now they occupied such a small house between the three of them and he was acutely aware of just how thin the house’s walls were. However home alone and with his new toy, he figured he might as well capitalise. 

He left his briefcase by the sofa, the plain brown wrapping paper was crumpled and discarded on the floor, his suit jacket on the loveseat as he headed for his bedroom in more of a hurry than he’d care to admit. Once there, Castiel sat on his bed and observed the Fleshjack once more, lubricant in one hand and the toy in the other. Quietly, he we pleased that the orifice of choice was a mouth and nothing more lewd, a pair of soft, welcoming, unisex lips for him to push into provided he could get the image of Dean’s smirking face out of his head for long enough. Dean’s smirking face, with pretty, plush, pink lips that had probably been wrapped around Sam’s cock on many an occasion, that had probably sucked on his fingers, kissed his neck and had pressed against the meat of his thigh whilst teeth sank in. 

Castiel unbuttoned his shirt. He was doing his best to stay calm, to not get too worked up and in a misplaced attempt at retaining some of his dignity, Castiel refused to rush. He wanted to indulge himself, he didn’t have a lover, but a good wank would probably set him straight for a week or so. He wanted to be able to grunt, to moan as he fucked into his fist, except now he could fuck into a pliant wet mouth, not having to worry about gagging or their comfort. Standing up, he hung his tie over the back of his deck chair, quickly followed by his shirt, folded neatly. His pants were next, followed by his socks and boxers shirts, the last two being thrown into his dirty linen hamper. 

And then he sat down, eager but nervous and looked once again at the contraption. He’d fitted it together, and contemplated a condom for a few moments before deciding against it. And finally he picked it up. Once again he pressed a finger to the soft lips, pushing inside and stroking the textured walls curiously pressing another in just because he could. The soft burn of shame was beginning in his belly, he couldn’t get laid, and this was charity on Dean’s part, but Castiel couldn’t bring himself to care. Dean had tried to embarrass him, had tried to mock him, but this was Castiel’s way of, subtlety and privately, getting his own back. He would not be humiliated in his own house. 

Clicking the cap off the small, clear bottle of lubricant that had been wrapped in the box, Castiel poured a generous measure into the carefully pried open orifice before adding a liberal smear to his right hand. Picking the Fleshjack up in his left, Castiel lay himself back easily on the bed, wriggling around and stretching out until he was comfortable enough to start. The slicked hand gripped his stirring cock gently, creating a soft, wet noise as he gently started to work himself up to hardness. It was a quick process, a couple of easy tugs and he began to swell. Palming his balls and gripping gently elicited a gentle moan from his lips, followed swiftly by a long stroke of his shaft, sticky with lube and now hard. 

A few more quick, practised flicks of his wrist, and Castiel knew he was as ready as he’d ever be. Wiping the lube slicked hand on the bedspread; he put the masturbator into his dominant hand and then once more parted the soft lips. It drooled. A small, wet dribble pooled on the bottom lip like spittle dripping down to bring a slow decent onto the head of Castiel’s cock. He watched it. He watched it like a hawk, flushed and eager to slip inside but he found himself resisting. The lips were now flush against the head of his cock, one hand holding the tube, the other bracing his flesh, hazed with lust and want. But it took him a long moment to finally push inside. 

He smoothed the supple lips over his shift with a slow, teasing motion, sinking himself into the cold, tight clasp of the Fleshjack. He’d warm the lube a little next time, but even the strange cool wetness couldn’t distract him from the mouths tight pull. It was close, ribbed and textured against his swollen flesh. The ridges were snug against his skin and the tortuously slow self-imposed drag was indulgent. It was nothing like a mouth inside, but on the outside, now flush against his pubic bone Castiel closed his eyes and could visualise lips. 

Perfect petal pink, sensuous and plump. They’d suck him down, sloppy and desperate, greedy to swallow him down. Pale skin, kissed by the sun to a barely bronze, dusted with freckles and thick lashes taking him to the hilt. He could feel the suck, the swirl of a hot, wet tongue rubbing hard against his shaft. Castiel’s movements were sure now, deliberate, long strokes, relishing each movement with a low moan. Dean’s smirking face, cocksure and smug flitted behind Castiel’s eyes, and his hand moved harder. A thick, wet , rhythmic slapping filled the air as Castiel fucked into the sleeve, ramming it down on his cock as he couldn’t help but think of Dean’s face, mouth stretched wide, full of bronzed cock that didn’t belong to Castiel. 

He was watching now, in his personal porn film, the mouth on him had morphed. Dean was still sucking someone down eagerly, laying prone next to Castiel, Dean’s phantom cock sporting a fine erection, and his mouth was crammed with Sam. The lips around his own dick were less experienced now, a shuddery, eager hunger that made up for a lack of skill.

The slapping sound echoed around Castiel’s room. Long, hard strokes, bruising lips smacking against his skin. His whole body was drawn tight, muscles shuddering and tensing as he continued to jerk off with renewed vigour. He’d never thought about Sam before, and if the faceless asshat he’d liked to think about had been Dean he wasn’t about to admit it, but Sam was definitely new. He’d be clean shaven, like always, and wouldn’t leave Castiel stubble raw after burying his face against Cas’ ass. Long hair for Castiel to guide that eager, warm mouth with, or simply to cling on for dear life to whilst he sucked and slurped at Castiel’s cock. 

It was a revelation of sorts for Castiel, that Sam was a sexual being. He knew he had sex, heard the gentle ball slap almost every night but thinking about having sex with him was something surprisingly new for Castiel, but Cas knew that it was an idea that he liked. And more importantly he knew that the sooner the brothers moved on the better. But, for the meantime he continued to jerk the tube roughly along his cock, finally opening his eyes to see himself fucking up into that silicone mouth and grounding himself in the fact that it wasn’t Sam. It wasn’t Dean either. And there was a sharp slice of shame through his gut. 

Alcohol numbed everything, including his embarrassment as he continued to drag the gift along his erection, feeling himself building up to that hot, blinding place where his body would be spent, he’d be wrecked. And when it hit him, a few stunted jerks later, Castiel couldn’t help but allow the slow, low moan to be dragged from his lips. He came, muscles twitching with the force, legs cramping and toes curling as he spilled himself into the soft, warm well. 

Pulling out, Castiel let the hard plastic shaft roll onto the bed and relaxed bonelessly against the pillows that had supported him throughout. He took long, laboured breaths, basking in the afterglow of his orgasm and grinning like a fool. He’d come with the thought of Sam and with Dean’s name on his lips, incestuous and forbidden the brothers would be the death of him, Castiel was more than aware. After a few long moments, Castiel finally pushed himself into a sitting position. His cock was in a sorry state, covered with lube and the remnants of his orgasm. Most of it, he assumed, was still collected at the bottom of that warm well, just past the plush lips. It had been swallowed, for all intents and purposes, lube glistened like gloss around the mouth, but his come was nowhere too be seen.

Eventually Castiel stood, picking up his forgotten boxer briefs and pulling them on roughly. He scratched himself, thinking about a wash and picked up the Fleshjack after listening for a short while, ensuring that nobody was home. He checked the clock on his night stand, and holding the Fleshjack upright headed out of his bedroom and to the bathroom. 

He placed it on the sink, closing the bathroom door and locking it behind him before gently pulling himself out of his boxers once more. After relieving himself, Castiel didn’t bother to tuck himself back in, instead moving to the sink and starting up the taps. Whilst he waited for the water to warm, he set to peering into the parted lips, debating the best way to clean it. He settled for running it under the warming water, wiping around the mouth before once again plunging exploratory fingers inside. 

Scissoring the fingers slightly, Castiel held the lips agape, allowing the water to fill it up, spilling over the lips and in the process, helping to clean it out. He’d do a better job tomorrow, when he could be bothered but for now he filled then emptied it a number of times in the increasingly hot water. Eventually he gave up, turning it upside down and resting it on the side of the sink to drip dry, lips pressed to porcelain. Castiel then began wetting a cloth and lathering it up cleaning the lube and spunk gently off his cock. It was a quick, efficient process; he was sensitive but not so much that the rough drag of the wash cloth was too much. 

Once clean, Castiel ran the Fleshjack gently under the water once again, giving it a few violent shakes to rid it of most of the water before moving to dry both himself and the toy off with the towel hanging off the back of the door. A little solemnly, Castiel headed back to his bedroom once he was done, placing the cap carefully on top of the opaque tube and contemplating where to hide it. His room wasn’t terribly big, nor did it frequently receive visitors, however Castiel was still conscious that this was a critical decision. If Dean, or Sam, for some unknown reason came into his room and found it, he’d be mortified and there would be no hiding that. Worse, his little ‘Fuck you’ to Dean might be best kept to himself. ‘Fuck you’s don’t work as well when the other person is laughing so hard they can barely breath, at least in Castiel’s past experiences. 

After a few long, hard moments of deliberation Castiel settled on his closet. He opens it up without a second thought, shoving the tube alongside a pile of shoeboxes filled with important papers and childhood memories. The silicone mouth is still a welcoming though, and Castiel can’t help but wonder if he could go again, hazy with thoughts of the brothers and beer. Swiftly, he rejected the idea, closing the doors to his wardrobe and settling down on his bed. He pulls out his laptop, and is relieved to hear the brothers return home roughly half an hour later. They’re almost silent, he didn’t even hear the door click, but the slap of skin and soft murmurs are unmistakable. He can hear soft gagging, Sam’s grunts, or are they Dean’s, through the thin walls as he types. 

Eventually the noise dies down, and Castiel, despite himself is straining to hear what they’re doing, how they do it. He wishes he could take notes, but instead he stares, adamantly at the spread sheet on his screen, ignoring it totally. It’s not until the first snore rocks the house, that Castiel finally trusts his hands not to wander. Closing his laptop over, he set it down on his night stand, and finally turned out his light, laying down and forcing himself to sleep. 


End file.
